“But, father,” she cried softly, “I could have loved you as my father, too....”
The tall figure of Roget was standing beside her, with bent head, his penetrating glance, full of profound compassion, searching the face of his friend.
“Perhaps he could not, Mrs. Harlindew,” he said, as if thinking aloud.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.